A Blow from the Past
by JanetD
Summary: Nick must face up to an unpleasant possibility about his paternity. Rated PG-13 for one 'harsh' word.
1. Chapter One

**Title:**A Blow from the Past (1/2)  
**Date Written:** 12/03/02  
**Author: **JanetD  
**Rating:** PG (language)  
**Summary:** Nick must face up to an unpleasant possibility about his paternity.  
**Author's Notes:** This story takes place sometime after the Season One episode .  
**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.  
  
February 2002  
  
Sunlight streamed in the windows of the restored Shadyside home while quiet jazz played in the background. Attorney Nick Fallin was seated at the table in his breakfast room, papers spread out before him. He often found it easier to work at the kitchen table when he had a lot of documentation to deal with. Other times he worked at the desk in his office. At the moment, he was preparing a brief for Larson Automotive. He was dressed in jeans and a Pittsburgh Steelers sweatshirt. Earlier he had gone for his usual Saturday morning run, and then returned to the house for a shower and breakfast (bacon and a cheese & mushroom omelette). Nick rarely took time to make himself a real breakfast during the week, preferring to get by on bagels or a muffin, but he often cooked on the weekends. It was 10:30, and he'd been working on the Larson papers for about an hour. He was deep in concentration on a particularly sticky point of the brief when the doorbell rang. Frowning in irritation, he got up and walked to the front of the house to find out who was disturbing him on this Saturday morning. Taking a quick look through the peephole he observed a woman of about his own age standing on the stoop. He opened the door, and said,   
  
Nicholas Fallin? the woman asked.  
  
Yes, that's right.  
  
My name's Marcy Pratt. I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time?  
  
The look of irritation was still on Nick's face. What's this about?  
  
She hesitated. Well, it's a personal matter, Mr. Fallin. I'd really appreciate it if I could come in and discuss it with you.  
  
Nick thought about it for a second, and then stepped aside to allow her to enter. He led the way to the living room, and gestured for her to take a seat. She sat down on one of the two couches that stood on either side of the coffee table. He sat down across from her.  
  
Now, what's this about, Miss...Pratt?  
  
Please, call me Marcy.  
  
Nick nodded, his expression bland. All right. What's this personal matter that you need to discuss with me, Marcy?  
  
Miss Pratt paused before speaking. It seemed to Nick that she was trying to gather up her nerve to begin. He studied her in the interval. She had brown, shoulder-length hair and a trim build. He figured his original guess at her age was about right. She looked to be in her late twenties. There was nothing out of the ordinary about her features, and if asked, he'd describe her as . As she began to speak, he turned his attention from the appraisal of her physical features to what she was saying.  
  
Your mother was Anne Wentworth, correct? Who attended Penn in the early sixties?  
  
That's right.  
  
My father's name was Robert Pratt. Does that name mean anything to you?  
  
Nick considered the name briefly, then shook his head.   
  
My father and your mother were at Penn together. In fact, they dated for some time. They were, they were quite serious.  
  
Nick allowed mild curiosity to show on his face.   
  
Yes. They were practically engaged when my father graduated, and was drafted. They sent him to Vietnam.  
  
Nick said.  
  
Marcy paused again while Nick looked on expectantly. Finally she said, They wrote to each other after that--the typical love letters of two young people in that situation. But over time, Anne wrote less and less. Realizing that her attention might be waning, my father wrote even more fervently. Until, that is, the day he received her final letter--a Dear John letter.... Anne had met someone else, a, a lawyer by the name of Burton Fallin. This man had apparently swept her off her feet, and she told my father that they were to be married.  
  
Nick nodded, and looked thoughtful. This story was all new to him. He knew that his father and mother had had a rapid courtship, but nothing about his mother being involved with a guy who got shipped off to Vietnam.  
  
A couple months later my father was badly injured when a soldier in his squad stepped on a land mine--Dad was only a few feet away. He was shipped back to the States, and spent eighteen months in a V.A. hospital. He was still deeply in love with your mother, and depressed by her desertion. He went through a long and agonizing recovery. He never did regain full use of his right leg. He walked with a pronounced limp for the rest of his life.... But to get back to my story, when he got out of the hospital, he vowed to make a fresh start. He was determined to put thoughts of your mother out of his mind, and begin life anew. He found work at an engineering firm in Philadelphia, and set about building a life for himself. A few years passed, and he found he was still thinking about Anne. He thought that maybe if he just saw her once more, he'd be able to move on--I, I know all this because of his diaries. I haven't told you yet that my father passed away about four months ago.  
  
Oh, I'm sorry, Nick said with genuine sympathy.  
  
Thank you. I...my father left behind a set of diaries and a lot of his personal correspondence. It was when I was going through his things that I learned about his relationship with your mother.  
  
I see.  
  
Nick noticed that Marcy's face had grown pale. Can I get you something to drink? he offered.  
  
Thank you, she said with a smile. A glass of water would be nice.  
  
Nick headed for the kitchen, and quickly returned with a glass of water. He watched Marcy closely while she took a sip, and then set the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. In a moment, she continued. As I was saying, Dad thought that maybe seeing your mother again would bring him some kind of peace, some closure', I guess you'd say. He made some inquiries, and found out where your mother and father were living. He thought about calling first, but was afraid your mother would tell him not to come. So he just showed up on her doorstep one afternoon. Naturally, she was surprised to see him. She had heard about his injuries from mutual friends, and she told my father she had felt terrible about that. To make a long story short, they saw each other several times that week. Your father happened to be out of town on business, so there was nothing to stop them from spending time together. She paused, and looked closely at Nick before continuing. One evening they, they ended up making love. She saw the look of shock that descended on Nick's face. I'm sorry, she said quickly. I...maybe I have no right to tell you this, but I think it's important that you should know.... She sought for Nick's eyes, but he had averted his gaze at her announcement. Anyway, the next day my father received a note at his hotel. It was from Anne. She told him that she couldn't see him again, that what they'd done was a mistake, that she had given in to, to both her feelings of sympathy over his injuries and the memories of what they'd shared together, but that it couldn't go on. She said she loved her husband, and didn't want to see her marriage destroyed. She ended the note by asking Dad not to contact her again. My father's heart was broken anew, but he decided to do as she asked. He went back to Philadelphia, and threw himself into his work.  
  
She paused long enough that Nick finally looked up to see why she had stopped her recital. Seeing that she had his attention, she continued, About nine weeks later, my father got a second letter from Anne. She held a sheet of stationary out to Nick. Here, you can read it for yourself. Nick took the piece of paper, and quickly scanned down the contents. It read:  
  
Dearest Robert,  
  
In the last few days, I have started and stopped this letter more times than I can count. Even now I'm in agony, not knowing whether I am doing the wise thing in writing to you. I pray that I am. Robert, I must tell you that I am pregnant, and it is possible that you are the father. I didn't want to tell you this, as I am determined to raise this baby as my husband's child. But I feared that you might somehow learn of my pregnancy, and come around asking questions--questions that I can't afford to have asked.   
  
Robert, I hope you know that the time we spent together was precious to me. It brought back so many wonderful memories of our days together. But as I told you afterwards, I love my husband, and my place is with him. I am determined to make a life as Mrs. Burton Fallin. Therefore, I will do my best to make sure that neither my husband or my child ever have reason to question whether Burton is the baby's father. If you feel anything for me, Robert, I beg you to abide by my wishes. Please stay away from me and the child. Let us live the lives we were meant to live, as the wife and child of Burton Fallin.  
  
Anne  
  
  
Nick read the letter a second time, and then just sat and stared at it. Could it be true? Could this man Robert Pratt be his father? He felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but still he tried to examine the question logically. It was true that the handwriting looked like his mother's, but then it had been so long since he'd seen it. He just didn't know.  
  
Marcy Pratt had observed the expression of extreme shock that had spread over Nick's face as he read the letter. She waited a moment, but when he didn't speak, she said, I know this is a huge shock to you, Nick. I-I probably have no right to disrupt your life like this, but you see I haven't any other family. Both my parents were only-children, and my grandparents passed away when I was just a girl. I lost my mother more than five years ago, and now that my father is gone too.... Well, if you are my brother, I'd like to get a chance to know you, a chance for us to get to know each other. And too, my father was a wonderful man. If you are his son, I think you have a right to know that, to know him.  
  
Nick kept his same pose, staring silently at the letter, not reacting to Marcy's words. After another moment, she said, I'll, I'll leave you alone now. I'm staying at the Hotel Franklin for a few days. Here's the number for the hotel and also my phone number and address back home in Philadelphia. She laid a piece of paper down on the coffee table. I'm hoping that once you've had a little time to get used to the idea, you'll be willing for us to take a DNA test. Nick still didn't respond.   
  
I'll...I'll see myself out. I really am sorry for the pain I know this must cause you, Nick. Truly, I am. With those words, Marcy turned and headed for the front door. She opened it, then with one last glance back, walked out of the house. Nick sat as if carved in stone for another moment, then reached for the telephone on the coffee table. He dialed swiftly, then put the phone to his ear as it began to ring.  
  
Burton Fallin said on the other end of the line.  
  
Dad, I need to see you, Nick said quickly, his voice full of stress.  
  
Burton immediately became alarmed. What is it? Are you okay? What's the matter?  
  
I'm okay, I-I-I just need to see you. Can you come over?  
  
Sure, sure. I can leave right now, but are you sure you're all right, Nicholas?  
  
I'm fine. I just...I just need to talk to you, Dad.  
  
Well, okay. I'm on my way.  
  
All right.  
  
See you soon, son.  
  
  
  
Nick hung up the phone. He ran a hand down the back of his head, then stood up. He realized with distaste that he still held the incriminating letter in his hand, and dropped it to the coffee table. He felt like pacing. Now that the first shock of seeing the letter was over, he felt infused with adrenalin. He wanted to be doing *something*, instead he sat back down, and tried to recall everything his mother had ever said to him about the events surrounding his birth. He knew it had been a difficult pregnancy for her, and that he'd been born three weeks premature. He wondered now if that would be evidence in his father's favor. But then he also knew he'd been underweight at birth--only five pounds, something--so likely he really had been a premature baby.   
  
Despite his intentions to the contrary, Nick did get up and begin to pace. After searching his memories for things his mother had said and done, Nick turned his attention to scrutinizing his father's past behavior.... No....no, he couldn't come up with any instance of his father doing or saying anything that would hint at his doubting Nick's paternity. That was a relief, but then again, it meant that his father would likely be unable to shed any light on the truth of what that woman Marcy had said. Thinking of Marcy, Nick was overcome with white-hot anger. Who was she to thrust herself into his life like this, making accusations of adultery against his mother, and questioning who his father was? Why hadn't she stayed in Philadelphia, and minded her own goddamn business?!  
  
As Nick continued to assess the validity of the woman's claim, he recalled that people had often commented when he was young on how he didn't physically resemble either his mother of his father. He particularly remembered one old geezer teasing him about the subject when he was no more than five or six. The old guy had asked him what family his parents had stolen him from, as with that fair hair and those freckles he surely couldn't be their own child. The fellow had persisted in the joke for so long that Nick had begun to worry that maybe the old man was right. He had run to his mother then to seek reassurance. Upon hearing what the trouble was, she had laughed softly, then held him tightly as she soothed his fears. All these years later he could still recall her words: You're ours, Nicky. You belong to Daddy and me. Nobody else.  
  
A few minutes later the doorbell rang, and Nick hurried to answer it. Seeing his father standing in the doorway brought a whole new rush of emotions. Before Nick could speak, Burton was stepping inside, scrutinizing his son's face as he asked, So what is it? What's the emergency?  
  
Nick ran a hand down his face. Now that the moment was here to tell his father about Marcy's story, he wasn't sure he could get the words out. Come in the living room, Dad, he said. Sit down.   
  
Burton took a seat while Nick remained standing. After a moment, Nick began, I had a visitor a little while ago, a Marcy Pratt. Her father was a man named Robert Pratt. Have you ever heard of him? Nick unconsciously held his breath as he waited for his father's answer.  
  
Burton looked thoughtful. Not sure. Sounds slightly familiar, though.  
  
This girl Marcy said that her father had dated Mom in college, that they were all but engaged.  
  
Ohh, okay. Your mother did date a guy in college...went off to Vietnam. Robert Pratt.... Yeah, that could have been the name, but it was a long time ago, son.  
  
Hearing even this lukewarm affirmation made Nick's heart sink. And given that his father showed no emotion in relating what he knew about Robert Pratt, it was obvious to Nick that he had no suspicions about anything that may have transpired between his mother and the man. For a moment, Nick thought that maybe he should hold his tongue, not show the fateful letter to his father--just keep the information to himself. But he knew himself well enough to know that if he did that it would just eat away at him like a cancer. No...he had to know the truth, whatever that truth might be. Licking his lips, he said,   
  
  
  
I...Marcy Pratt says that her father had an affair with Mom after you were married. He watched his father's face fall, and finished in a rush, She says Pratt may be my father.  
  
Burton's face turned red. He stood up and said loudly, What? What the hell are you talking about, Nicholas?  
  
You didn't know?  
  
Know? Know what? What kind of crap was this Pratt woman filling you with, son?  
  
Nick took a deep breath, and reached for the letter. She showed me this, he said, handing the sheet of stationary to his father. Burton took the paper, looked at it briefly, then reached in his shirt pocket for his reading glasses. Nick could tell when he got to the line that said it was possible that Robert Pratt was the father of Anne's child. Burton started, and glanced quickly at Nick. Then he resumed reading. Much as Nick had done, when he finished, he read it a second time. By the time he was through the high color had left his face. He began to look pale. Burton groped for the arm of the couch, and lowered himself down. Then he looked up at his son.  
  
Is it Mom's handwriting? Nick asked.  
  
Burton answered simply, nodding at the same time.  
  
Now it was Nick's turn to nod. I thought it was, he said quietly, feeling the hurt and betrayal anew.  
  
Both men were silent for a long moment, then Burton said, You say this woman claimed to be Robert Pratt's daughter?  
  
That's right. She said he'd died recently, and she found this letter, and others, among his private papers.  
  
Burton said, Did she want something from you, Nicholas? Money or some kind of favor?  
  
No, no. She just said if it were true, if I were her, her brother, she'd like to get to know me.  
  
  
  
She wanted us to take a DNA test.  
  
Burton looked up sharply at that. What did you say?  
  
Nothing. I, I didn't say anything.  
  
His father nodded. Burton glanced down at the letter again, but he wasn't actually seeing the words in front of him, instead his mind was working furiously. After a moment he said, Well, son, I think the best thing to do is check out this woman Pratt and her father. Make sure we're not dealing with some kind of con here. I said this is your mother's writing, and I think it is. But handwriting can be faked. Even if the letter is genuine, this Marcy Pratt might have some kind of ulterior motive, be trying to insinuate herself into your life for some nefarious purpose.... You haven't agreed to see her again have you?  
  
  
  
Good. Don't. Not until we more about this situation, at least.  
  
Nick nodded. He realized that he felt some measure of relief. Dad was taking charge. And for once, he felt not the slightest bit of resentment about that.  
  
Burton stood up. I'll get Sam Peterson started on this right away, son. If this woman has a criminal record or a shady past, Sam will find out lickety-split. Did she leave her address with you?  
  
Yeah, she did. Nick reached for the paper, but rather than handing it to his father, he walked into his office and jotted the information down on a notepad. He tore the paper off, and handed it to his dad who had followed him into the room. She's staying at the Franklin right now, but she lives in Philadelphia.  
  
Burton nodded. I should probably take this letter with me too, if that's all right?  
  
Nick nodded his acceptance.  
  
Okay, son. Well, I'll get going. Try, try not to dwell on this, Nicholas. Okay? Let's find out if there's anything to it first.  
  
Nick nodded, but knew that there was no way he was going to be able to put this out of his mind.  
  
----+----  
  
Burton walked down Nick's front steps, and rapidly away from the house. Now that he was out of Nick's view he began to give rein to the anger that he had held back earlier. Damn it, Anne, he thought, Even then? You were cheating on me even then?... Nicholas might not be mine? My God, if you were still alive I think I'd take a horse-whip to you! You goddamn...goddamn little bitch! Burton Fallin couldn't recall the last time he'd been this angry. He'd put up with Anne's infidelity longer than he should, but he never for a moment dreamed that she was sleeping around that early in their marriage. My God, they hadn't even been married four years when Nicholas was conceived. She couldn't be faithful to him for four years? What kind of woman had he married?  
  
A couple hours after Burton had left, he called to tell Nick that he'd gotten hold of Sam Peterson, and that he'd agreed to start looking into it immediately. Sam said he'd make it his top priority, son. I didn't give him all the details, just told him I wanted a thorough background check on this woman and her father. Wanted to know if they had any record of criminal activity, and whether the father had served in the military, where he had gone to college, that kind of thing. Sam said he should be able to have the information on Monday.... We'll get to the bottom of this soon, Nicholas. Very soon. I promise you.  
  
----+----  
  
Nick spent the rest of his weekend trying to bury himself in work. It wasn't easy. His mind kept drifting back to thoughts of Robert Pratt and his mother's betrayal. But he persisted, and when the weekend was through he was surprised to realize how much he had actually accomplished. The brief for Larson was complete, and he'd made good headway on several other cases, as well.  
  
Now it was Monday morning, and Nick was faced with the prospect of putting in a very full day at work. He knew that he had several important meetings at Fallin & Associates, along with commitments for LSoP. He hoped he could maintain his focus while knowing that Peterson was due to make his report today.  
  
----+----  
  
It was almost noontime, and as Nick exited one meeting, he found himself with an hour to go before the next one. He hadn't seen his father all morning, and decided to pay him a quick visit, and see whether Peterson had been in contact with him. Approaching his father's office, he glanced through the glass to ascertain that his dad was alone. He was, so with a brief knock, Nick walked in. Nick could feel his pulse pounding, as he asked, Dad, any word?  
  
The expression on his father's face told him that he had heard from Peterson, and the news wasn't what they had wanted to hear.  
  
What did he say? Nick asked.  
  
Burton didn't answer.  
  
Nick demanded, his voice rising. Tell me.  
  
Burton let out a sigh. Come here, Nicholas. Sit down.  
  
Nick walked up to his father's desk, and impatiently took a seat. he said again.  
  
Burton gave his son a level look as he said, Marcy Pratt's story seems to be on the up-and-up, son. Neither she or her father have any criminal activities in their past--no police record of any kind. Her father did attend Penn at the same time as your mother, and he served in Vietnam--was seriously wounded, in fact--and spent eighteen months in rehab.  
  
Nick nodded. Marcy had told him that.   
  
The daughter is a nurse at a hospital in Philly, very well thought of there from what Peterson could gather. I think, son, without subjecting your mother's letter to a handwriting analysis (and I'll leave that decision up to you), I think we have to assume, Nicholas, that this girl's story is genuine.  
  
Nick's expression didn't change, but his voice revealed his agitation. So Robert Pratt could be my father.  
  
Burton didn't reply, just looked at his son sympathetically.  
  
Nick got up to leave, but before he reached the door, Burton called him back. Nicholas, this doesn't change anything...not anything between you and me, I mean. You're my son. You've been my son since the moment I held you in the hospital when you were less than an hour old.... Nothing can change that.  
  
Nick gave a curt nod, then walked on out of the office, pulling the door closed behind him.  
  
You're my boy, Burton half-whispered to the closing door, as his eyes grew wet with emotion. You're my boy.  
  
----+----  
  
It was 8:00PM. Nick had been driving around since he left work, trying to sort out his jumbled emotions. After he'd left his father's office, he'd pushed the issue of his questionable paternity to the back of his mind. Any time it tried to bob up to the surface, he had pushed it ruthlessly back down. He hadn't allowed himself to think about it then. But he did now.   
  
Almost without realizing where he was heading, Nick found himself in front of his father's house. It took him only seconds to make up his mind, and then he was pulling into the familiar circular driveway. He turned off the engine, and sat for a moment. Then he got out of the car, and walked quickly up to the front door. He pushed the bell. In about forty seconds the porch light came on, and his dad opened the door.  
  
his father said, clearly pleased to see him. Come on in, son.  
  
Nick walked inside, and slipped off his overcoat, hanging it on the coat tree in the hallway. The house was toasty-warm, the way his father liked to keep it.  
  
Can I get you something? his father asked.   
  
No, I'm fine, thanks.  
  
Okay. Well...why don't you come on into the living room then, son?  
  
Nick nodded, and followed his dad into the other room.  
  
Burton knew that Nick must have a purpose for this visit, and was certain it had to do with Robert Pratt, but he waited for his son to be the one to broach the subject. Finally Nick began to speak, Dad, I, I've been thinking about this, and I don't think there's any point in subjecting Mom's letter to handwriting analysis. You and I both recognize it as her writing. And since, uh, this man Pratt's history seems to check out, I don't think the handwriting test is necessary.  
  
Burton looked at Nick expectantly, sure there was more to come.  
  
But I...I want us to take a paternity test. I want to know if I'm your son, or-or his.  
  
Burton nodded. He wasn't surprised by this announcement. Once he'd seen Peterson's report he'd suspected that Nick would want the answers that modern technology could provide. He supposed he couldn't blame him for that. All right, son. Whatever you want. But I'll tell you again...whatever the results turn out to be it won't change anything. There's more to fathering a child than knocking someone up.... I, uhm...I realize I haven't always been the best father to you, Nicholas, far from it. I know that. Hell, there've probably been times you hated my guts. He laughed then, but the laughter had a harsh edge. But despite all that, son, I'm the one who's been there for all thirty-two years of your life. Me, not Robert Pratt. Me. Nothing's going to change that.   
  
Nick nodded. He was quiet for a moment, then said in a strained voice, not meeting his father's eyes, There's, uh, theres something else.... I want to know if...if my mother had other affairs.   
  
Burton said in a sad, regretful tone.  
  
Nick fixed his father with a hard stare, and said, I want to know, Dad.   
  
Burton returned his son's stare for a moment, then lowered his eyes, and nodded once.  
  
Nick felt set aflame. His mother hadn't just cheated the one time with an old love, she had done it more than once. How many times? he demanded. How many men were there, Dad?  
  
Burton's expression showed his disquietude. Son...it doesn't do either one of us any good to dig that all up. Your mother...your mother was unfaithful to me on more than one occasion, let's just leave it at that.  
  
Vivid emotion stood out on Nick's face. No, I want to know. How many others were there? Two, three? Six?!  
  
  
  
Tell me, Dad. Please!  
  
Burton sighed again. If you must know, I was aware of two other men that your mother...entertained. But that was late in the marriage. I had no idea that she had been unfaithful before that, son. And that's all I'm going to say on the subject.  
  
That's enough.... Two others you know of, but there could have been more.  
  
His father didn't say anything.  
  
My mother, Nick said, his voice thick with contempt. My mother whored around.  
  
  
  
Well, it's true isn't it? Nick's eyes were bright with anger. We know of three. Who knows how many others she invited into her bed?   
  
Burton had no answer for that, and after a moment, Nick dropped down into a chair, and placed his head in his hands. I think I'm going to be sick, he said under his breath.  
  
Burton walked over to Nick and placed a hand on his shoulder. I'm sorry, son. I never wanted you to know any of this. I swear to God, I didn't.   
  
After a minute, Nick raised his head. Yeah, well, I know now. He stood up, and headed for the front door, stopping only long enough to grab his coat. I'll talk to you later, Dad, he said as he walked out of the house, slipping on his coat as he went down the sidewalk.  
  
Burton starred after his son with a heavy heart. He'd tried to protect Nicholas from the knowledge of his mother's infidelities. Through the years, he'd stood silent as Nick threw barb after barb at him over his desertion of Anne and himself. And now it was all for nought. I wish to God that Pratt woman had had the good sense to just burn her father's personal papers, Burton thought. It would have spared us all a lot of heartache.  
  
----+----  
  
When Nick got home that night he went on the Internet and found information about DNA paternity testing. He found a reputable company, and had ordered a home test that would be sent by next-day shipping. He'd decided to pay the extra fee for express service on the testing itself. That meant they should have the results in three working days. It was now Monday night. So depending on how quickly the test kit arrived (and how quickly they could get it sent back), they might have the results by Friday, but most likely it would be the following Monday.  
  
Nick debated whether he should try to call Marcy Pratt, and let her know that he and his father were having DNA testing performed. He felt torn. On one hand, he felt that was the right thing to do. Seeing that she'd sought him out as she did, she must be anxious to know what he'd decided to do. But on the other hand, he had no desire to speak to the person that had thrown a monkey wrench into his life. Screw her, he finally thought. I'll wait till we get the test results back, and then decide if I want to talk to her.  
  
The next evening Nick came home to find the test kit waiting at his door. He made a quick call to his father, and then drove over to the house so they could collect the DNA samples required for the test. This was a quick, painless procedure that just required rubbing a cotton swab over the inside of the check. In less than two minutes, they had both swabbed their cheeks, and transferred the cell sample to the special card that had been provided.   
  
Nick said. I'll run this over to Federal Express.  
  
His father nodded. He hadn't said much since Nick had gotten to the house, but then neither had Nick. Burton walked his son to the door, and wished him good night. Nick replied in kind, and then he was gone. Burton looked thoughtful as he closed the door. He hoped to God that this test would show that Nick was his son. He'd told Nicholas that it wouldn't make any difference in how he felt about him, and he believed that. But still, he wanted Nick to be his biological son with all his heart. He and Nick had enough problems. If Nicholas were to learn that he really was fathered by another man.... Well...surely that would just create an additional complication in their own relationship. That was one thing they honest-to-God didn't need.  
  
----+----  
  
It was late Friday afternoon when Nick decided to call the paternity lab, and see if their test results might be back. He was in his office with the door shut, so knew he should have some measure of privacy. He pulled the number for the lab out of his breast pocket, and dialed the phone. The lab had provided him with both an ID number and a password that would allow him to properly identify himself to the customer service representative. As Nick heard the phone begin to ring he felt his heart rate increase. Please let the results be back, he thought to himself. I don't want to have to wait until Monday. In another few seconds he heard a professional-sounding female voice coming over the line. Nick identified himself using the id number and the password, and then asked if she could tell him if his test results were in. Just a moment, please, she said, and put him on hold. Nick heard some sort of classical music playing in the background, and grimaced. In about forty seconds the service rep was back. We do have the results, sir. We'll mail you the complete report, but would you like me to tell you the results now? Nick felt his heart jump up into his mouth as he said, Yes. Thank you.  
  
Your test results are positive. Paternity is confirmed with a 99.5% degree of certainty.  
  
A smile of relief broke out on Nick's face, but still he had to ask the woman to confirm what he'd just heard. he said. The test results are positive?  
  
Yes, that's what I said, sir. You should receive the written report in the next day or two.  
  
Thank you. Thank you very much.  
  
You're welcome. Have a nice day.  
  
The news was still sinking in as Nick hung up the phone. It was all a false alarm. His father *was* his father. He was still Burton Fallin's son. Nick took a moment to collect himself, then headed for his dad's office. He hoped he wasn't busy. As he passed the glass partition he saw that Sheila was in with his father. Well, Sheila would just have to make herself scarce for a little while. Nick entered without even knocking. Both heads came up as he strode in. Nick said, without waiting for either party to acknowledge him, would you give us a moment, please?  
  
Sheila replied, and gathered up her things to leave.  
  
Nick waited until the door closed firmly behind her then allowed a smile to light up his face. The results are back. They're positive.  
  
An answering smile broke out on his father's face. That's wonderful, son, just wonderful! Burton stood up, and came around his desk to stand close to Nick. Positive, huh?  
  
Nick nodded.  
  
Well, that's great news, son. Burton reached out and gave Nick's arm a couple of quick pats. Well...I think this calls for a celebration, don't you? How bout we have dinner at Gianni's? You like that.  
  
Nick caught himself before he uttered the automatic refusal that he generally employed when his father issued invitations like this. Why not? he thought. Why not have dinner with Dad? If there's any time I ought to accept, it's tonight. he said aloud.  
  
Great. You just want to leave from here? Say, 6:30?  
  
Sure, that's fine.  
  
Okay. Well, I'll see you then, son.  
  
Nick nodded, and turned to go, but before he left, Burton got off one more arm pat.  
  
----+----  
  
It was Saturday morning, and Nick was once again at work at his kitchen table. Earlier, as he had sat down to get started it had occurred to him how much had happened since the last time he'd taken a seat at this same table to begin a Saturday's worth of work. Now he lifted his head from his paperwork, and glanced at his watch--10:30. That seemed an appropriate time to make this particular phone call. He walked to his office, and picked up the piece of paper that he'd left there exactly one week ago today. He took the phone out of its cradle, and dialed a number. It was answered after two rings.  
  
  
  
Miss Pratt?  
  
  
  
This is Nick Fallin. I thought you should know that my father and I took a paternity test. The results were positive. I'm not your brother, Miss Pratt.  
  
There was momentary silence on the line. I see, Marcy said at last. Well, in that case, I'm, I'm very sorry for inserting myself into your life like I did. I hope you can accept my apology. I just...wanted so badly to have some family. It's very lonely when you're all on your own.... Maybe you've been fortunate enough to never have experienced that, Mr. Fallin, but trust me, I know.  
  
Nick said almost under his breath.  
  
Well, again. I'm, I'm sorry for causing you any distress. I know it couldn't have been easy for you to hear about what happened between your mother and my father. I do hope you'll eventually forgive me for bringing it all to light.  
  
Nick stayed silent. He couldn't bring himself to offer her any reassurance on that count.  
  
When Marcy realized that Nick wasn't going to reply, she continued, I wish you the best, Mr. Fallin. And, please, pass along my regrets to your father. I realize this must have hurt him too.  
  
Yes, well...goodbye, Miss Pratt.  
  
Goodbye, Mr. Fallin. Take good care.  
  
Nick hung up the phone, then walked slowly back into the other room to resume his work.  
  
The End  
  



	2. Chapter Two: Alternate Ending

**Title:** A Blow from the Past (2/2)  
**Date Written:** 12/17/02  
**Author: **JanetD  
**Rating:** PG-13 (language)  
**Summary:** This is an **ALTERNATE ENDING** for the story presented in Chapter One.  
**Author's Notes:**   
**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.  
  
February 2002  
  
As noted above, **this chapter rewrites the ending** to the story presented in Chapter One  
**  
Story Recap:** Nick was minding his own business one Saturday morning when a woman named Marcy Pratt appeared on his doorstep claiming that her father and his mother had been lovers in college, and that Nick was the result of a night they spent together after Anne was married. Nick is floored by the news, and consults Burton. Burton has a private detective check out Marcy and her father. When nothing shady is found in their past, Nick decides that he wants to have a paternity test done to determine whether or not Burton is really his father. Picking up...  
  
It was late Friday afternoon when Nick decided to call the paternity lab, and see if their test results might be back. He was in his office with the door shut, so knew he should have some measure of privacy. He pulled the number for the lab out of his breast pocket, and dialed the phone. The lab had provided him with both an ID number and a password that would allow him to properly identify himself to the customer service representative. As Nick heard the phone begin to ring he felt his heart rate increase. Please let the results be back, he thought to himself. I don't want to have to wait until Monday. In another few seconds he heard a professional-sounding feminine voice coming over the line. Nick identified himself using the id number and the password, and then asked if she could tell him if his test results were in. Just a moment please, she said, and put him on hold. Nick heard some sort of classical music playing in the background, and grimaced. In about forty seconds the service rep was back. We do have the results, sir. We'll mail you the complete report, but would you like me to tell you the results now? Nick felt his heart jump up into his mouth as he said, Yes. Thank you.  
  
The test results are negative. Paternity has been ruled out with a 99.999 % degree of certainty.  
  
Nick was stunned. He was silent a second, and then said, Negative? You're sure? Those are the results for case number 4438156?  
  
Yes, sir. I'm looking at the id number here on the screen--4438156. The DNA shows conclusively that the two individuals are not related. You should receive the written report in the next day or two. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?  
  
Uh, no, no thank you.  
  
Nick slowly hung up the phone, still trying to absorb the blow. He couldn't believe it--his father wasn't his real father. I'm not Burton Fallin's son, he thought. I'm not a Fallin, at all, I'm a, a Pratt. Nick felt like his whole world view had shifted, that everything he'd known about himself and his world was suddenly set on its head. It was jarring. He'd known that the test might turn out this way, of course, had even tried to prepare himself for such an eventuality, but the reality of it was far worse than what he'd imagined.   
  
After sitting for a moment in stunned silence, Nick decided that there was nothing for it but to tell Dad the news. Running a hand down his face, he picked up the phone and dialed Sheila's extension.  
  
Sheila? Nick. Is my dad free?... Good. Thanks.  
  
Nick got up and made his way across his office. He opened the door, and then walked at much less than his normal brisk pace around the center island and to his father's door. He spared Sheila a brief glance, then knocked, and went right in.   
  
Burton Fallin was about to light a cigarette when his son walked in. From the look on Nick's face, he knew immediately that something was wrong. What is it? he asked quickly. Nick, eyes averted, said in a voice taut with strain, I called and got the test results. I-I-I'm not your son.  
  
Burton's face fell. Cigarette forgotten, he sat back in his chair, and just stared at Nick. They're sure? he asked finally.  
  
  
  
Burton didn't speak for a moment. Then he said, Well, did they, uh, did they give you any kind of odds?  
  
Nick nodded, and then looked at his father. Yes. 99.999 percent certainty.  
  
Burton said, deflatedly. He held his son's gaze for a moment, and then dropped his eyes.   
  
Nick said, and then turned to go.   
  
Before he'd taken more than two steps, Burton said, Nicholas...I'm sorry, son.  
  
Hearing the familiar from his father's lips sent a jolt through Nick, but he quickly recovered. Without turning around, he acknowledged his father's comment with a quiet, and then walked on out of the office, pulling the door shut with a click'.  
  
Burton could feel his eyes grow wet. Dammit, Anne, he thought. Why'd you do this? Why'd you do this to Nick and me?  
  
Nick walked slowly back to his office, head down. Once inside, he seated himself at his desk, and tried to return to work. But it was no use. He couldn't keep his mind on the papers in front of him. The phrase, Dad's not my father kept playing in his head. After a few minutes, he gave up. Stuffing the papers into his briefcase, he stood and reached for his coat. He'd take a trip over to the clinic. Maybe that would get his mind off things.  
  
After Nick's annoucement, Burton had sat in his office, trying to wrap his mind around this new reality. Finally, he decided he should go and talk to Nicholas. He came out of his office just in time to catch sight of Nick exiting through the main doors. He stared after his son, his expression bleak, then turned around and went back inside.  
  
Nick walked out of the elevator and into the beehive of activity that seemed to be LSoP these days. Purposely avoiding making eye contact with anyone, he made his way quickly around the corner to the broom closet that served as his office. Hanging his coat on the pipe sticking out from the top of the water heater, he sat down at his desk, and looked through the couple of files that Lulu and/or Alvin had placed there. They were all for cases that had to be dealt with on Monday, nothing there to occupy him.   
  
Nick sat and stared around his `office` discontentedly. It really was a dump--a mop and broom in the corner, the cleaning supplies above him to his left, and that god-forsaken sink behind him that had been sitting there since he had first staked claim to the broom closet all those months ago. God, couldn't they at least get rid of the damned sink?   
  
After a moment, Nick found his thoughts turning back to the revelation about his parentage, and his face grew dark. Damn his mother and Robert Pratt! Damn Marcy Pratt for digging up the past. Why couldn't she mind her own god-damned business?! Lead her own life and stay out of his.  
  
Nick was interrupted from his brooding by the appearance of Laurie Solt at his door. She said rapidly, Nick. Good. We've got an emergency shelter hearing, and Alvin said I could grab you if you were in. She looked at Nick expectantly. He just stared at her without comment so she continued. The little girl's name is Haley Ivie. She's eight. Her father's not in the picture, and her mother was hospitalized today with a burst appendix. She's in critical condition. There's no family or friends to step in, so Haley will need to spend at least a few days at the shelter. Nick still made no comment. The hearing's in fifteen minutes. Haley is waiting outside.  
  
Nick nodded, and got up. He put on his coat and picked up his briefcase, then followed Laurie outside where she introduced him to Haley Ivie. She was a small child, with big eyes and long brown hair. She was currently twisting a lock of that hair around one finger. She looked up at Nick with trepidation as Laurie said, Haley, this is Mr. Fallin. He's going to help us out. He's going to speak for you in court. Haley said, , shyly, and then sought for Laurie's hand. Nick returned her hi', then punched the button for the elevator.  
  
----+----  
  
The shelter hearing had been cut-and-dried. After it was over, Nick had made his usual rapid exit from the courtroom, and was now walking back to the parking garage to get his car. It was close to 5:00, and he didn't feel like returning to either Fallin & Associates or LSoP so he'd decided to just call it a day. It was chilly out, and heavy, gray clouds filled the sky. As he walked, Nick found his gloomy thoughts matched the weather perfectly.   
  
Reaching his car, Nick got inside, and sat with his hands on the wheel, staring out the windshield at nothing. After a moment, he started the car and slowly made his way down the parking structure to the exit. He knew if he went straight home he'd just sit there and feel like crap. What he'd really like was a hit, just a little hit to make him feel good, to maybe help him discover the positive side of this whole mess. As he came out of the parking garage he almost turned his car in the direction of Colin's apartment, but stopped himself. No! No, he wouldn't let himself get sucked back into all that again. He couldn't.... After a few moments of internal struggle he won that battle, and breathed a sigh of relief. But seconds later, the part of himself that usually got him into trouble said, Well then, why not the next best thing?   
  
Why not? Nick thought. He drove towards home, but before he reached Ellsworth Avenue he made a quick detour to Jack's Packaged Liquor. He walked out with a bottle of tequila under his arm. If he couldn't get high, he'd get drunk.  
  
Nick walked in his front door, briefcase and tequila bottle in hand. He dropped his briefcase in the hall, then hung up his coat in the closet. Heading into the kitchen, he grabbed a tumbler from out of a cabinet, and then walked into the living room. He set the glass and bottle down on the coffee table, and then collapsed down onto the couch, loosening his tie as he did so. Reaching in his jacket, he retrieved his cell phone, and turned it off. He didn't want any contact with the outside world tonight. He planned to spend the next couple hours getting stinking drunk. Then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.  
  
----+----  
  
More than an hour had passed and Nick was well on the way to his goal. Somewhere along the line he had retrieved the picture of his mother that sat on the shelf, and placed it on the coffee table. He'd stared long and hard at the photograph, trying to figure out how the mother he had loved so completely could have betrayed him in such a devastating fashion. He had discarded his jacket, and unbuttoned his collar. His tie was now a loose loop around his neck. The telephone had rung about 20 minutes ago. He'd let the machine answer it. It had been his father (Nick, it's me. If you're there, pick up.... Okay, well, uh...call me when you get this message.). Needless to say Nick hadn't returned the call.   
  
Nick poured himself another drink, and turned it all over in his mind for what seemed to be the hundredth time. His life up until now had been a lie. He wasn't Burton Fallin's son. He was the bastard of some man named Robert Pratt. He held his glass out toward his mother's portrait in an unsteady salute. Here's to you, Mom. Here's to you and the dead Robert Pratt, my honest-to-god, fucking father.   
  
Robert Pratt. Robert Pratt, had been a...a what was it? An engineer that was it. Hmmm. An engineer. Would he have been an engineer if he'd been raised by Pratt? Would it have been like father, like son then too? This made Nick think about his father and the firm. He wondered if he should leave Fallin & Associates, quit trading on a name that wasn't rightfully his. Just...start over. He'd be tempted to give New York another try if it wasn't for the fact that his probation kept him bound to Pennsylvania. Well, maybe Philadelphia then. There ought to be opportunities there, maybe he could get his community service transferred to Philly.   
  
Right, Nick, he found himself thinking scathingly. Who's going to want to hire you with a possession charge on your record and another two-plus years of probation to serve? You're screwed. He drained his glass, and reached for the bottle for a refill. His thoughts continued down in a dark spiral. Finally, he picked up his mother's picture, and stared at her smiling face, as angry tears filled his eyes. Why Mom? he said aloud. Why'd you have to go and, and screw Robert Pratt? Why'd you lie to me?! He wanted to hurl the picture across the room, wipe that smile off her face. But he didn't. A few seconds later he passed a hand across his eyes, then asked tearfully, Why...why'd you die on me, Mom? Why? He stared at the picture for another moment, then set the photo back down on the coffee table, and rested his head in his hands. A minute later the doorbell rang. Nick raised his head. The doorbell rang again, followed by insistent knocking. Nick stood up, and carefully made his way to the door. He peered through the peephole, and saw it was his father. he corrected himself grimly. Not my father--Burton Fallin. He opened the door slowly, then stood there, resting one hand on it for support.  
  
Burton was greeted by the sight of his only son, jacket off, collar open, tie askew. Nick's eyes were wet, and his face reflected his recent distress. Burton also thought it looked like he'd been drinking. He sighed internally. Just as he had feared, Nick wasn't dealing well with this. Nicholas, I tried to call. You okay?  
  
Nick, eyes downcast, nodded abruptly, but didn't speak.  
  
Well, can I come in?  
  
Nick moved back from the door, and headed for the living room. Burton noted that he stumbled slightly going down the two stairs into the room. Burton shut the door, and followed Nick. He wasn't surprised to see the open bottle of tequila on the table. Nick stopped near the couch, and his father stood a few feet away, surveying the items on the coffee table--the open bottle, a partially-filled glass, a framed picture of Anne. Jesus. This wasn't going to be easy.  
  
Burton took a breath and began, Son, I know you're upset--  
  
The word exploded out of Nick's mouth. He raised a hand and stumbled backwards. Don't-don't call me that. It's not true. My mother saw to that.  
  
Nicholas, I know you're...you're hurting. This hurts me too. But we'll get past this. You need to believe that.  
  
Nick shook his head. No. No, it-it's too much. It changes too much.  
  
Burton said with both sadness and a note of plea evident in his voice.  
  
Nick stared at his father, his face a mask of pain, then asked tearfully, Why'd she do it? Why? She-she lied to me. She lied to you.  
  
Burton sighed. She made a mistake, Nick. She just made a mistake. She was afraid to admit it...afraid of the consequences.  
  
Nick replied bitterly, A `mistake`. Right. I was a mistake.  
  
Burton replied quickly, No, no. You, you were everything to her, Nicholas, the light of her life. She loved you more than, than anything else in this world. We both loved you. You were our boy. You're still...you're still my boy.  
  
Nick's face crumpled, and the tears that had been brimming in his eyes now began to overflow. Burton moved forward, and awkwardly took his son into his arms. Nick stiffened, then gradually allowed himself to accept the comfort of his father's embrace. Burton held him tightly, and whispered, You're my boy. You'll always be my boy.  
  
Father and son stood together for a long moment. Then Burton pulled back. Still keeping his hold on his son, he looked at Nick, then at the bottle on the table. He said with mock sternness, Now then, enough of this, okay? You're going to have one hell of a headache in the morning, as it is. Nick nodded, but didn't speak. Burton said, then pulled Nick back for another quick hug and a pat on the back before releasing him.   
  
The End


End file.
